


Culling of the Fold

by thewriter8



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriter8/pseuds/thewriter8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johannes stopped thinking about it. Every shot came quick between the eyes or deep in the gut. Sometimes he would weigh the bodies down; sometimes he would chop and scatter pieces. His eyes grew dark before a kill, and then they grew dark every morning, like his brother’s, like his father’s. He put a suit on every day from the moment he turned seventeen. He smoked after every death. He learned little tricks to get him through the assignments, drank shots with Horst when he returned home. He could have been thirty, and no one would have questioned him. <br/>It didn’t start off that way, but really, when does it ever begin the way you expect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culling of the Fold

**Author's Note:**

> Please do listen to 'Culling of the Fold' by The Decemberists for maximum enjoyment of this fic. I mean, as much enjoyment as you can get from a Cabal Mafia AU.

“It’s like a dance,” he murmured through his lips, a long-term habit learned from talking through a cigarette, “there are moves you learn, rehearse, and perform. You let these moves take over, let them rule you, and then the job is done. You take your bow, and let the boys clean up the body.” And his smirk matched his brother’s: handsome, devious, impossible, “It’s a dangerous business we run, Horst can certainly attest to that fact. We both can. Think you can handle it, Barrow?”  
Leonie squared her jaw, reached across the table for her waiting handgun. “Where do I sign?”

—-

It didn’t start off that way, but really, when does it ever begin the way you expect?  
The boys were young, 10 and 15 respectively. Horst knew what his father was involved in, Johannes had an inkling. Ironically, the younger brother was the one who saw his mother’s throat slit, the one who had to tell the cops all about it and tell them boldfaced lies, Johannes, I don’t want them involved, the one who took his mother’s jewelry to pawn as Horst and their father packed up the rest of the house. They moved, because that’s what you do when the others find you. You move and hide, but don’t quit the job, boys. Your job means it all.   
They would both nod, yes, sir, of course, sir, whatever you say, sir.   
But why did it have to be Mom, sir?

—-

He received the phone call while Horst was out.   
“Of course. Yes, this situation is easily handled. We’ll meet tonight and I’ll give you a quote; you give me the name and location. We’ll have someone on the job the next day.”  
It was mid-evening by the time the brothers greeted each other. Johannes finished addressing the wax-sealed envelope.   
“Welcome home. There’s takeout on the counter.” he said. Horst made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, popping his knuckles as he moved to the kitchen.  
“You should try cooking sometime. You might be rather good at it.” Horst mumbled, plopping chow mein on his plate.   
“Where were you all day? Normally you’re in charge of dinner.” The younger asked the elder as he entered the kitchen. Horst cracked a smirk, but spotted the trademark wax sealer on the dining room table.   
“What job are you sending out?”  
“Hm? Oh, yes, it’s a simple one. A woman who’s been stealing money from the client who contacted me. I have Miss Barrow on it.”  
“What?”  
“Leonie Barrow?”  
“Johannes, I know who she is, my surprise was not regarding her name.” Horst stared at his brother with knitted eyes. “She’s only been training for two weeks. That’s where I was all day, I was assisting her.”  
“Oh? And how did she do?”  
“Sh-she’s brilliant, she’s fine, but Johannes, I don’t think she’s ready, I-”  
“Horst.”  
“What?”  
“We’re never ready.”  
They bit their tongues, out of regret and rebellion. They passed questions to each other with glances over dinner, too many questions to bother answering. So Johannes sent the letter to Leonie, and Horst went to bed early, exhaustion clear in his gait. And Johannes sat back, smoked, wondered if her hands would shake as she shot, cleaned up.  
Just an assignment, not a person, a job, get the job done.

—-

“Johannes, you have to handle your gun like you handle a woman.”  
“I don’t know what that means, Horst.”  
The eldest rolled his eyes, stubbed his cigarette out with his shoe. “You would if you ever went with me Friday nights. Now smoke, then shoot.”  
And it went like that, through August, December, March, Johannes’s childhood, but, really, he was never meant to have one, and then he was sixteen and that was old enough.

“You have an assignment.” Horst glanced with raised eyebrows at the envelope in his brother’s hand, a sturdy parchment with a red wax seal. Johannes turned it over with steady fingers.  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah, Dad doesn’t like telling people about their jobs in person. Especially his family.” Horst seemed bitter, but the younger Cabal ignored him. He tugged the seal up and read. Horst moved to peer over the blonde’s shoulder, finishing off a bottle of scotch.  
“Looks like a pretty basic assignment. Good. You are a decent shot, but you haven’t had nearly as much practice as I did when I was your age.” He said it like he was worldly-wise, like he knew far more than his baby-faced brother, like Horst was the epitome of dangerous.   
Johannes knew neither of them could achieve that title. How could they, when their hands shook before a kill, every time, even when their eyes grew dark with desensitization, when they didn’t, honestly didn’t care about the man or woman under their gun?

—-

But he checked up on her that evening. When it didn’t matter anymore, when she had sent a call the job’s done, he arrived at her apartment with a grim smile and a bottle of Horst’s scotch.  
She answered the door after multiple knocks. She was dressed in a robe. Johannes averted his eyes momentarily, just as his father taught him.   
“Oh.”  
“Hello, Miss Barrow.”  
“Have I done something wrong?”  
“What?” Johannes looked at her strong jaw, set, but eyes wary. “No.”  
“Then… why are you here, Mr. Cabal?” She spotted the scotch in his hand and shook her head. “I’m not really interested in entertaining tonight.”  
“I wanted to make sure you were doing well.”  
There was a silence. They could hear the crickets between them.   
“I’m fine.” Leonie said to her doormat, not fooling a soul. Johannes held up the scotch.   
“May I leave this with you? It’s sort of a ‘welcome to the family’ gift.”  
“Family?” She looked at him, a tad incredulous.  
“Well, er, the job. Good…first assignment.” Johannes fumbled. Most of my employees don’t refuse free 30-year-old scotch.  
“Well. Thank you.” She took the bottle and held it as though she didn’t know what to do with it. She held her entire body that way. The crickets returned. Johannes saw how damp Leonie’s hair was, how red her skin. Her arms were crossed, but he was sure there was no blood on her hands, none under her fingernails. She was clean, though she wouldn’t feel like it for too long, long enough to grow numb to the dirt as well.  
“You’re welcome.” Though he wanted to say I understand.

—-

He scrubbed off all the blood he could before going home. He walked back to the house with spots of his first assignment on his knees and forearms. He was late for dinner with Horst. Their father was off making deals, discovering new assignments for his boys, all my boys, not just you two. Though I do save the best for my own flesh and blood.  
“Damn, Johannes, don’t scare me like that, you should’ve-” Horst stopped in the entryway, surveying his brother’s haggard appearance.   
“Called? I know. But I didn’t. And I’m fine.”  
And a world of exhaustion passed between them, a whole other level of I know. Johannes felt his shoulders shake, Horst’s eyes fell, not that he couldn’t look at his brother, just that he knew that’s how he looked after his first assignment, age ten, before he knew what human life meant, before he understood. No one had been there for him.  
He pulled Johannes into an embrace. It was shrugged away.   
“I’m going to change for dinner.” The youngest Cabal turned, knowing his gangly limbs were covered in death since he had been kneeling in it, weeping, screaming over the corpse of him, a man he had never seen, never met, only killed, tied chains around, dropped in the river. He wanted to write apologies on every link, every piece of metal wrapped around the corpse of a man who could’ve had a wife, could’ve had children, could’ve, could’ve lived.   
And Horst said ‘alright’, let him go, knew he would turn out as ‘all right’ as the rest of them.

—-

And then things got easier. Johannes stopped thinking about it. Every shot came quick between the eyes or deep in the gut. Sometimes he would weigh the bodies down; sometimes he would chop and scatter pieces. His eyes grew dark before a kill, and then they grew dark every morning, like his brother’s, like his father’s. He put a suit on every day from the moment he turned seventeen. He smoked after every death. He learned little tricks to get him through the assignments, drank shots with Horst when he returned home. He could have been thirty, and no one would have questioned him.   
And then their father died when Johannes turned the worldly-wise age of twenty. Things grew simpler, or at least less dangerous. The brothers inherited the business, and their father’s will stated that they would co-manage it. That meant they were in charge of assignments, they got the calls from the wealthy, they got the information to pass on. They didn’t have to get their hands dirty anymore.  
How quaint it was that she came into their lives right then, a little knock, knock on the front door, a small little smile, a hello, I’m your new neighbor, nice to meet you.  
The brothers only heard I’m yours.

—-

“It’s uncanny, the resemblance.”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
“Well, I won’t accuse you of anything too devilish. You weren’t at her apartment terribly long. Long enough for a bit of, well-”  
“Jesus, Horst. Close your mouth now.”  
“I’m only stating facts, Johannes!” The eldest Cabal grinned, face pink with alcohol. It was two in the morning, but the brothers didn’t notice.  
“What facts? So what they look sort of alike?”  
“Sort of?”  
“Fine, very much. Especially their eyes and noses and hands and-”  
“The facts, Romeo-”  
“Watch it.” Johannes growled through his drunken haze. Horst held his hands up in a sign of ‘no harm, no foul’, though one hand was occupied with a full shot glass.  
“The facts are that you haven’t even looked at a lady for years ‘til Barrow walked in the office uptown.”  
“Not true.”  
“Oh really?” Horst smirked. “Enlighten me with your lady encounters.”  
Johannes paused, thought, felt briefly nauseous, but used the example anyway. “When we were busy about three months ago.”  
“Yeah?”  
“The assignment I took-”  
“Johannes, Christ, assignments don’t count!”  
“I at least looked at her!” he said in a louder voice than usual, but not louder than ‘usual drunk’.  
“Right before you shot her.”  
“Fine, I’ll give you that one.”  
They sat in silence, because work was mentioned, and they tried never to mention work after a full day of it, but that was Johannes’s way, he had nothing else, really.  
Horst cleared his throat. “I think I’m gonna turn in.”  
“Sure.”  
“But Johannes.”  
“Hm.”  
“Miss Barrow’s not her, you know. She’s real different.” His voice was coated in something darker than the whiskey the pair was drinking. Johannes took vague note of that.  
“Of course she is.”  
“Leonie’s got some real moxie.”  
“Go to bed, Horst.”   
“You too.” The eldest pointed as if he had something to say before stumbling upstairs, murmuring something under his breath. Johannes stared at his fingertips for a very long time, imagining her fingertips too, but which hers, he couldn’t say, because they were so similar, really, and that’s why it ached, had ached, would continue to ache, until she gets killed on the job, which could be what’s best for all involved.

—-

Horst found her in the old office, the one their father had purchased and they kept after he died. He found her there, sprawled on the desk and windowsill and carpet and he gagged, he would’ve died had there been anyone there with him, he was so grateful there wasn’t, there was no one to see him weeping, kneeling in her blood, terrified she was dead because of him, because of them, because of what they had begun, because they knew it was wrong, of course they knew, she was married, he never wanted his brother to find out so thank god he hadn’t gone with him to the office but now, now what?  
He picked up her pieces by himself. He found her left hand, removed the rings, pocketed them.   
He let the rest of her drift in the river, where she always loved to visit. They had picnics along it, though it always made him feel sick. It made him think of assignments and death and he hated it sometimes, what he did, the family business, wished he had the courage to leave, and she had been giving it to him, the bravery to abandon the only life he knew, killing grown men at the age of ten, but someone must’ve seen that rebellion in his eyes, the spark to the black, cut her up to cut him up too.  
Horst went home, told Johannes, gave him the wedding band, offered to show him the bloody office. He declined, believed his brother’s words, smart boy. They packed up, moved again, and Horst kept her engagement ring. He kept it, because she wasn’t wearing the one Johannes had bought her. And that cut Horst more than all the rest.

—-

She noticed her assignments seemed easy. She didn’t mind. It’s not as though killing ever seemed easy, but there was never any struggle. She grew agile, adept. She could shoot them in the back like a coward, she knew the brothers would give her a hard time for that if they ever found out, so she never said. Leonie knew not seeing their eyes was easier.   
She would say a prayer for them, after they had fallen to the ground. She’d wrap them reverently in chains instead of cutting them up, as often as she could, whenever it wasn’t dangerous.   
She never cried, not even after the first shot she took, months ago by now. But she knew she was lost. All she knew was the dance, and taking shots after work with the boys.   
And part of her thought that was enough. The other part missed her father. But she could call him, check in, make sure he was eating properly, miss him but never let him catch on to that fact.

—-

After she died, Horst bent to Johannes’s will, no matter what. Maybe he felt guilty. Probably he felt guilty. He felt guilty. But there was also the emptiness, the shared misery of her passing. He hated that he found her the way he did, but he was perversely pleased he was the only one who saw her like that, in complete destruction, only meant for him, he could handle it.  
Johannes became fanatical. He wanted to find who killed her, his wife, his humanity. Horst let him search. He pretended to help, but mostly he killed. He killed who they thought was involved, and he killed them violently. Sometimes he cried over the blood dashed across the river stones, because he was so sorry things were this way, they could’ve had families.  
But he knew all of his guilt was used up, forced into his tight chest when he looked at his baby brother, face hard and manic.  
Horst blamed himself. And that’s what nearly got him killed.

—-

“You were going to kiss me last night, weren’t you?”  
Johannes felt his ears turn pink, but the rest of him remained composed. “Hm?”  
“Last night, when I came by after an assignment for shots with you. You were going to kiss me before I got into the taxi.”   
“Really?”  
“You don’t remember, do you?”  
Of course he did. But he wasn’t sure if telling her that would get him what he wanted. But he wasn’t sure what he wanted, either.  
“Vaguely. Why are you bringing this up, Miss Barrow?”  
“Can’t you call me Leonie? I call you Johannes.”  
“Habit. My apologies.”  
“Leonie.”  
“Yes. Leonie.” Johannes said with a smirk. She’s got moxie.  
“Can I ask you… why you’re in this business?” She sat across from him at the dining room table. Johannes’s fingers itched.   
“It’s been in the Cabal family for generations. My father died, and his sons inherited it. It’s what we know, so we stay with it. It’s good money.”  
“Are you ever threatened?” Leonie seemed genuinely intrigued. Johannes let a small snort of derision slip through his lips.  
“Of course. Nothing we can’t handle. Like I said, it’s what we know. For the most part, we make the threats.”  
“Of course.”  
“Why did you come to us, Mis-”  
“Leonie.”  
“Leonie. Apologies again.”  
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I wanted training I wouldn’t get anywhere else.”  
Johannes felt disappointment in her answer, something missing, but he let it go. The phone rang. He excused himself graciously, offering the fridge to Leonie’s disposal.   
“There’s not much in it, but help yourself.”  
“Ah, lots of takeout.”  
“Check the dates; some have been in there a while.” Johannes left the room, ignoring Leonie’s muttering of ‘Jesus, boys, think you could take care of yourselves.’  
“Johannes Cabal speaking.”  
He listened to the indistinguishable voice on the other line, listened as Horst entered the house, listened as he exchanged greetings with Leonie.   
“Yes. We’ll have someone on the job tomorrow.”  
He hung up. He hesitated. He grabbed a piece of paper anyway, scrawled out the name Frank Barrow. He tucked the paper in his pocket.   
He hadn’t had an assignment in ages.

—-

“Johannes, help me! Johannes, please!!”  
A nobody. A nobody assignment had caught Horst, had him pinned to the floor with a knife at his throat. It was nearly shaming to see it.   
But Johannes saved him, shot the nobody through the temple, staunched the flow of blood across his brother’s neck.   
They sat in silence at home, wondering if she had called for help too, only two months ago, barely gone, ever missed.  
“Thank you for coming back for me.” Horst murmured to stop his thoughts.  
“That’s what brothers are for.”  
And the eldest hid a wince in his shoulder, because that’s not what he was for. He was for cheating and lying and stealing women that weren’t his. He was for getting them killed. No one should’ve come back for him, because no one came back for her, not until it was too late.

—-

“What?” he snorted into his shot glass, downing his seventh of the evening. “No! No, I don’t ‘have feelings’ for Leonie Barrow, Johannes.”  
“You’re just so friendly toward her.”  
“I’m friendly in general.”  
“Right.” Johannes looked away, not nearly drunk enough to continue the conversation. Though Horst was.  
“Why do you ask?” His voice suggested slyness, a perseverance that Johannes loathed.  
“Nothing. Just wanted to make sure. You’ve always loved seeing an assortment of women.”  
“Not for a long time, really. I’ve grown too old for that sort of thing.” He said it with an honest wistfulness that Johannes didn’t catch.  
“You’re 32, Horst.”  
“Too old.”   
“Sure.” Johannes let the conversation go, ignored Horst as he spoke of years gone by, relationships failed for one way or another. Then he went silent, and left the room to go to bed. Johannes stared at his hands.  
Frank Barrow was dead. Johannes had killed him two hours ago. Now he knew who to blame the assignment on when Leonie found out.

—-

“Smile, handsome!”  
“Darling, I-”  
“It’s only a few photos, please? My ma wants to see my gorgeous fiancé.”  
He shut up, grinned, watched Horst over her shoulder wearing a dark smirk, not altogether happy, not altogether sad. But that’s just how it always was, wasn’t it?

—-

“Leonie! You comin’ over for drinks tonight?” Horst asked, smiling as she entered the office. It faded when he noticed how pale she was, her eyes rimmed in pink. “What happened, what is it?”  
“I quit. Stay the fuck away from me.”  
“Wh-Leonie, please, wait!” He launched himself from the desk, touching her shoulder, receiving a slap across the face. He staggered back, words escaping his lips, “You can’t just quit! That’s not how it works in this business.”  
“Yeah? Try to stop me.”   
He grabbed her hands before she could hit him again. Besides the shade of red across his cheek, his face was impassive. “What’s happened to you? Was it something my brother said? How can I fix this? We don’t want to see you go.”  
“You’ve done enough, you bastard.”   
She looked him right in the face, and he knew she meant it. He moved away.  
“What did I do?”   
“Frank Barrow.” Her voice cracked.  
“Your father?” Horst’s eyes widened with dawning realization. “No.”  
“Don’t act like you don’t know!” she screamed, fresh tears ripping down her face. “You were the one who took the assignment.”  
“Wh-”   
“You boys better go underground. I’ll give you a day’s head start before I come after you. This family business is over.”  
“Leonie, please-”  
“You could’ve said no.” she spoke with a quiet broken smile, biting her lower lip, holding herself together, and there’s the rub, the thing, the stickler, none of them knew how to keep any of it together, a pocketbook, a calendar, a relationship, a heart.   
She left. Horst called Johannes.  
“Come to the office. Now.”

—-

“This is what I do, son, what I’ve done since I was young. My father did it, and his father. There are many of us. We’re like a family. We take care of each other, even when it could be easier to run.   
“But I’m going to give you a choice. You could go off, live a different life, never be a part of this family, never come back. Or you take the shot. I need you to decide now, Horst.”  
He thought of Johannes first, sleeping at home, five, tow-headed. Then he thought of his mother, caring, loving, kind. He saw the man on the ground in front of him, bruised, broken, bleeding, pleading. He took the gun from his father and shot, didn’t miss despite his shaking hands.   
He thought of Johannes again, hoped he would get a choice.

—-

“You never found out who killed her, did you?”  
Johannes stared at his brother’s back, stepping into the office and closing the door. “I’m still looking.”  
Horst coughed out a laugh. “Really?”  
“Yes, really,” Johannes bristled, moving to his brother, staring out the high-rise windows, “Don’t act like it’s such an impossibility.”  
“It’s been seven years. Anybody could’ve killed her.”  
“Horst, stop. Why are you bringing this up?”  
“Barrow.”  
“Leonie?” Johannes swallowed unperceptively.   
“She’s gone. Quit.”  
“What?” He turned Horst to face him, balling his hands into fists. “She can’t.”  
“She did. She’s gone. She’s coming after us too, a bonus.”  
“Why?”  
Horst choked on another laugh. “You’re really going to lie to my face?”  
They froze. Johannes’s fingers twitched behind his back.   
“You’re talking about Frank.”  
“Well done.” Horst said without humor. Johannes licked his lips.  
“He was a detective, he caused trouble. I got the call. I didn’t want to pass the assignment on to a less experienced employee, so I took it on.”  
“I don’t care why the fuck you did it, except why you blamed me.” Horst grabbed Johannes by his collar, pulling him nose to nose. Neither flinched.  
“I wanted her to trust me.”  
“God, Johannes, you just- You don’t get it. You didn’t have to take the assignment at all, you should’ve heard the name and declined, you should’ve-”  
“The client knew who killed her!” Johannes grabbed Horst’s hands, shoving him away.   
There was a breath, a shared breath of stubborn elation. Horst turned, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “No.”  
“I know the name and location of him.” Johannes said sternly.   
“So you had to kill Frank Barrow to get that information from the client?”  
“It was only fair.”  
“So you had to betray me.”  
“It-”  
“Was only fair, sure. I get it, Johannes, I fucking get it.”  
“Horst!”  
The elder sat on the desk in the center of the room, staring at the younger. Nothing passed between them, and then an inhale. “Aren’t you tired, Johannes?”  
“What?”  
“Aren’t you tired?”   
“No?”  
“You don’t understand what I’m asking.”  
“Not really, Horst.”  
“That’s fine. I don’t really understand either.”  
There was a silence, the anger sweated out like a fever, regret hanging in the air. Horst smiled briefly, remembering. “You came to me before your first date. You needed my help to pick out your suit. ‘I just want to make a good impression, you’re good at those sorts of things’.”  
Another pause, one more hesitant than the last. Johannes opened his mouth, breathed in slowly, “Why are you bringing this up?”  
“I thought I would feel sorrier.”   
“Sorry? Sorrier for what?”  
Horst moved to the window, unable to look at his still-baby-faced brother, he always would be. “Kill the bastard if that’ll make you feel better. It won’t bring her back, and Leonie’s never going to look at you again either.”  
“It was a mistake. I realize that.”  
“Glad I taught you something.”  
“Horst.”  
“Hm.”  
Johannes placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We should go.”  
“She was wearing this when I found her, you know.” Horst pulled the necklace chain out from under his button up, pinching the engagement ring between his fingers. Johannes took it after a moment, confused.   
“I’ve never seen this ring before…”  
“It was our mother’s, actually. Dad gave it to me in case I ever wanted to settle down, find a wife.”  
They locked eyes, Johannes stumbling back when he saw the gun in Horst’s hands. The elder smiled again, a bit manic, a bit peaceful, as honest a smile as anyone could muster in the family business.   
“Like I said, I thought I would be sorrier.”  
Horst fell to the ground, Johannes’s shout of protest dying in his throat. His shoulders shuddered. He put the ring around his brother’s neck. He began to sob after the gunshot left his ears for the first time since sixteen.   
He thought about taking the body. He thought about kicking it. In the end, he left the office, left the city, left the family business because, really, what sort of business remained?

—-

Of course it ended this way, because endings are always more predictable than beginnings, aren’t they?  
He stubbed the cigarette out between his shoe and blacktop. He wasn’t carrying a gun, hadn’t for a few years now. After disposing of the mousy excuse for an assignment that had killed his wife, he lost the strength. He couldn’t pick the weapon up anymore, but he found he could still carry himself well enough. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible before that final death.  
He wished she had a grave. He wished any of them did, really. Her body was god knows where, along with Horst’s and their mother’s. But he knew there was one grave he could visit.  
He could see his hazy reflection in the marble. He ignored it and the other shadow of a person behind him, vaguely traced the carved letters of his father’s name with his fingertips. He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to.  
“Aren’t you tired?”  
She almost turned, left him alone. She considered being better, better than any of them. But it was a dance she’d rehearsed too many times, and pulling the trigger was just muscle memory now.   
Leonie set the gun atop his chest, didn’t look at his eyes, said a prayer. She didn’t cry, never had, she wasn’t about to start now.   
She felt sorrier than she thought she would.


End file.
